


Changes at Riverbend Hold

by BrendaA



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:57:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrendaA/pseuds/BrendaA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This grew out of a story I was trying to write - but the characters as I wrote them ended up being too nice to do what I had planned for them to do. I still wanted to use the setting I had created, so I had to find a new story for the characters! This ends up being just a short slice of life in one of the smaller, more specialized Holds on Pern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes at Riverbend Hold

_Riverbend Hold was several sevendays’ travel from Fort Hold, which it looked to when it could not make enough profits to support itself. The small cot was hardly more than a waystation along one of the major roads on Pern’s Northern Continent. Sturdily built of rough granite blocks and a thick slate roof, it was safe from the deadly rain of Thread, although Fort Weyr’s wings had only let Thread reach the ground twice since the Ninth Pass had begun. As well as the cot, with four rooms and a loft, there was also a smaller stone shed which housed a milch beast, and a large vegetable garden in the back. Only enough farming to was done to support the hold; summer traffic was enough that there was no time to work in faraway fields. There was no well, as the Twelvebend River was only a dozen dragonlengths away. Broad and shallow, it was from the river that the inhabitants of its namesake Hold made all of their profits, for at this spot the road and the river were forced into confrontation, the river flowing east and the road turning south. Riverbend Hold was where they met._  
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
  
Jarron spotted the wagon train coming as soon as he stepped out the side door to empty the chamber pot. Barely remembering to set the pot down in his excitement, he ran to the corner of the house, where a large brass bell hung, and began yanking furiously on the rope. The loud clanging soon brought the rest of the inhabitants from the table where they had been grousing about the quality of Jarron’s cooking; everyone knew the bell meant work, and profits.  
  
Rorden came up behind Jarron and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, squinting across the river. “Traders,” he pronounced with satisfaction. “Two dozen wagons at least, draybeasts and runners… lets go, fellows!” Gaffer, Forsyth, and Chandis were already headed toward the shed where the big raft was; Rorden was right behind them, with Jarron trailing along. The four men, chosen to man the Riverbend outpost because of their size and strength, heaved the raft out of the shed, grabbed the ropes and began pulling it down the slope to the river bank. A track had been worn into the bank from Turns of such work. Jarron followed, struggling with the poles, and caught up just as the raft splashed into the river.  
  
The raft was the pride of Riverbend Hold. Made of nearly indestructible skybroom wood, it was large enough for the largest trader’s wagon and sturdy enough for even the huge, awkward draybeasts. A number of empty kegs lashed to the sides added stability. The long poles, more than three times Rorden’s height, were also of skybroom wood, with sharp iron spikes on the ends for catching in the muddy bottom of the river.  
  
Rorden raised an arm and hailed the traders, who had just reached the opposite bank. “I’m comin’ over!” he hollered. “Get your goods ready!” Crossing his fingers, Jarron got ready to jump onto the raft – but was stopped in mid-dash by Gaffer’s huge hand. “Get off me! I want to go this time. I can help – ”  
  
“You stay here.” Rorden turned to glower at him. “We don’t need more weight on the raft, you know that! Go inside and make some  _klah_. Stay out of the way when they get over here – you know how those draybeasts will spook at nothing after a crossing.” He picked up his pole and motioned to the other three, who followed suit. Chandis pushed off, and they began guiding the raft across the river, angling upstream to counteract the current.  
  
Jarron scowled and trudged back up to the house. He built up the fire and put a kettle of water on – ferrying was thirsty work – then ran back outside and sat down against the wall to watch. Because of the bend, their side of the river had a steeper bank than the gradual slope on the other side, so he had a good vantage point to watch as his uncle guided the raft to the opposite bank. While that section of the river was wide, it was shallow enough to use the poles easily. Rorden jumped off the raft as willing hands caught hold of the ropes and pulled it farther onto land. He strode up to one of the men and they shook hands and began talking. Jarron grinned as the man got more and more agitated; Rorden always insisted on selecting his payment before he would transport anyone across the river.  
  
The two men walked behind a wagon, still arguing, and Jarron began looking at the rest of the group. He watched the runnerbeasts grazing; the draybeasts might as well have been asleep. Children were running and shouting, and – Jarron squinted harder, trying to see what they were playing with. Some little flying creature… he caught his breath as he realized what they must be. “Fire lizards!” They had heard from a trader, last Turn, the story that Weyrmen in the Southern Continent had discovered real fire lizards, and had – so the trader claimed – Impressed them just like dragons! Jarron had listened eagerly, even though he knew Rorden was probably right that it was just another trader tale… but what else could they be? He couldn’t make out the colors from where he was, but one seemed brighter than the others – could it be a gold?  
  
He sighed, lost in a memory of the only time he had seen a dragon up close. It had been a blue dragon that carried the eight-turn-old Jarron to Riverbend Hold to live with his sister after their parents had died of an illness in their cothold on the border with Ruatha. Jarron had been so frightened by his parents’ deaths and having to leave the only home he knew that he couldn’t even speak, but when the dragon landed to take the Healer back to his Hall, he stopped his shameful crying so he could see it better. He stared and stared at the eyes, whirling with blue and green, and thought that the dragon had been crying too. The dragonrider… what had been his name? Jarron couldn’t remember. They had swooped off the ground and circled in the air, and then – black and cold and nothing and he was screaming and then they were at a stone cot near a river and Larina was there with her new husband, Rorden. After a few months Jarron wondered why she looked so fat, and she told him that he was going to have a little niece or nephew to play with. She looked so tired, being alone there with only men for company; she was glad to have Jarron to help her. But he had not been able to help her when the pains started early. None of them knew what to do. Rorden pleaded with her in one breath and cursed her in the next, for not having sent for help. They placed the emergency signal on the roof, but by the time a sweeprider saw it and came back with a healer it was too late. She was gone, and the baby with her, and Jarron was alone again.  
  
Shouts from across the river startled him out of his memories. He looked over and saw that they had begun leading the first team and wagon onto the raft. Now that he was aware again, he heard something else. He ran inside to where the fire was hissing and spitting, and swung the boiling kettle away from the coals, then busied himself making  _klah_.   
  
His eyes blurred again as he remembered Larina teaching him how to measure the powdered bark, and how to pour from the heavy kettle without burning himself… she had taught him almost everything he knew. The men might complain about his cooking, but they were not about to take it upon themselves! He grimaced; housework was all they would let him do – cooking and cleaning, even sewing – and of course the dirty jobs like emptying the chamber pot, cleaning the stalls and weeding the garden. Even at eleven he was still too small to be of any use with the raft, as the other were always quick to point out; he could barely stagger with the poles.   
  
“Jarron!” It was Rorden calling from the riverbank. He ran back outside and down to the bank, where the wagon wheels were being unblocked, preparatory to unloading. The draybeasts were bellowing a protest, and the two runnerbeasts that had been tied to the wagon’s sides were struggling up the bank, snorting. Jarron ducked out of their way to where Rorden could see him.   
  
“The  _klah_ ’s ready,” he called out.   
  
“Good, good! You show these fellows where they can put their wagon, and give them some  _klah_. We’ve got to get going – this is going to take all afternoon, if we’re lucky. They’ll be making camp here tonight.”  
  
Jarron hurried to obey. The traders had their own mugs, which he filled, offering sweetener and cream. They wasted no time in conversation, staking out their beasts and setting up tents, then hurrying back to the river to help the next group. Even with four experienced raftsmen, the unexpected could always occur, and Jarron smothered his laughter as a particularly obstinate draybeast butted Gaffer into the river. He came up spluttering but kept his grip on the pole, and was quickly hauled back aboard, cursing the stubborn animal.  
  
Rorden’s crew was fast and efficient, but it still took the rest of the day to get all the wagons, beasts and people across the river; Trader Severn had one of the largest trains. Jarron had started a stew in the largest kettle, but the traders mostly used their own supplies. They were glad to pay for milk and cream from the hold’s milch beast, and reciprocated with dried fruits from Southern Boll and other unusual treats. With all the excitement, Jarron was able to slip away and play with the other children. He even got to touch a blue fire lizard that was sleeping on a woman’s shoulder, and he watched in amazement and envy as several of the creatures begged for food from their humans. The children told him that Severn had eggs from two more clutches in his wagon, and was planning to sell them at the next Fort gather – maybe even the big Spring Gather, if they got there in time. Some of the eggs were still quite soft, so they ought to last until then. The other clutch was hard enough to hatch soon. Severn had mentioned the eggs to Rorden when they were settling the price to cross the river, but the ferryman had not shown much interest. Awed at the thought, Jarron asked to see the eggs, but although trader children were often bolder than hold children, not even they were willing to risk Severn’s wrath should anything happen to the precious fire lizard eggs. His disappointment was soon forgotten when he joined the others by the fire to listen to the traders’ stories, as each vied to tell a stranger or scarier tale. Even Rorden was there, sampling his newly acquired keg of beer. It did not take long for most of the adults to get roaring drunk.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
Jarron got up early the next morning to start the  _klah_. He knew the men would all have trouble recovering from the night before. When he went outside, he could hear a few of the traders groaning as well; most of them had not indulged as much as the Riverbend crew, but a few had gotten just as drunk. It took everyone some time to get up and prepare food, but the traders were already packed except for their bedrolls, and were ready to move out while Rorden was still sipping his first cup of  _klah_.   
  
Trader Severn came into the cot to make his farewells. “I thank you once again for the use of your raft, Ferryman, and for your hospitality,” he began. “I hope you are satisfied with the bargain we struck?”  
  
“Satisfied, yes,” Rorden rumbled. “I hope you’ll have more of the same on your return trip.”  
  
“And you’re sure you wouldn’t rather trade some of your fee back for a fire lizard egg? The beasts are a nuisance when hatched but can be trained to a lot once they’ve grown a bit.” His face softened; Jarron guessed he was thinking about his own bronze lizard. “Anyway, I’d be willing to trade you an egg for some of that cloth and those two axes back.”  
  
“Oh!” Jarron bit his tongue to keep from saying any more. A fire lizard! A miniature dragon! Surely he would impress it; Rorden and the others wouldn’t have the patience. They wouldn’t care…  
  
“Hush, Jarron,” Rorden said, glaring at the eavesdropper. “Trader, I wouldn’t take one of those things if you gave me a mark along with it. You said yourself they’re a nuisance, and I’ve no patience for that.” He noticed Jarron’s crestfallen look but only said gruffly, “You’re welcome to our hospitality anytime you’re through here. We do welcome news from other Holds.”  
  
“Indeed, as do the other Holds.”   
  
The two men shook hands and strode outside. Jarron let out a heavy sigh. It had been too much to hope for anyway. Suddenly there was pandemonium outside. He ran out to see what was wrong, and gasped in horror. Chandis, who had been helping hold one of the draybeasts while its harness was being adjusted, was half under the wheel. Jarron could see sharp bone sticking out of his leg. As he stood frozen, afraid to get closer and get in the way, the draybeast whose bellowing had caught his attention stepped sideways. One hoof landed hard in Chandis’ midsection; the men who were trying to pull him away shouted at the beast, which lurched back to its original position. The wagon wheel rolled back off of Chandis’ leg.  
  
Jarron ran inside to get Riverbend’s medical kit. None of them had much experience; the usual injuries were no more than bruises or knocks on the head. His hands were shaking as he ran back outside, where the wagon wheels had been blocked to prevent them rolling again. The draybeasts had been unhitched and tethered to another wagon, and Chandis was just lying there twitching. His screams had quieted down to loud moans of such agony that Jarron could hardly stand it. Rorden, kneeling by his friend, looked up. He appeared to be in pain as well.  
  
“Quick, Jarron, the fellis!” He quickly handed over the flask of fellis mixed with wine. They wouldn’t be able to do much for Chandis while he was awake.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
By noon, the traders had not yet left. Two of their women who knew something of healing had been working over Chandis since midmorning. He had been carried to his bed in the cot. They had tried to set the broken leg, but they were worried about the exposed bone, and they had no idea what injuries had been inflicted by the draybeast’s hoof. At least two ribs were broken, and there was much bruising in his lower midsection. While fellis and numbweed would do for now, it was not enough. The combined medical supplies of the cothold and the wagon train were inadequate for such severe injuries. Still in shock but eager to be useful, Jarron climbed up onto the roof and spread out the emergency banner. The next sweeprider would surely see it; the red and white were unmistakeable. Unlike the green and orange of a casual hail, the emergency banner meant that a healer was needed.   
  
Rorden, who was usually so gruff, was at his wits’ end. He had no skills that could help his friend, once he had carried him inside. He admitted to himself that Jarron was being a good help; he was even able to get Chandis to drink his doses of fellis along with the vegetable broth that had been simmering when the accident occurred. If Chandis would only be all right… maybe the boy could handle a fire lizard after all. If Chandis was all right, he’d give the traders the axes and _two_ bolts of cloth. Gaffer and Forsyth, while worried about their companion, also wondered what would be done about a replacement. They couldn’t handle the raft with less than four men, and Jarron certainly didn’t qualify.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
The traders left the next morning, unable to extend their stay indefinitely. It was not until late that afternoon that Jarron, picking herbs to help with Chandis’ fever, saw the brown dragon flying overhead. He shouted, jumping up and down and waving his arms, pointing toward the cot. The dragon circled once in acknowledgement of the signal, and disappeared. Moments later a bigger, bronze dragon circled to land in front of the cot. Jarron ran to meet it, mindful not to drop the precious herbs. The others, who had been alerted by Jarron’s shouting, also rushed outside to urge the dismounting rider and his two passengers inside. In awe at the size of the dragon, much larger than the blue he had ridden from Ruatha, Jarron edged along the wall. As he turned the corner to go inside, he saw the dragon’s faceted eyes, whirling blue. He stared back, then the spell was broken as he suddenly remembered what he was holding and ran inside.  
  
The healers, a young man and an older man, were examining Chandis. Too out of breath to speak, Jarron held out the herbs and was rewarded with a surprised smile from the younger healer. The older man glanced at the herbs approvingly and continued his examination. Wanting to stay out of their way and still hear what Chandis’ injuries were, Jarron retreated to the nearest corner.  
  
“Well, the leg will be alright, although that bone worries me. I’ve fairly washed it with redwort, so there shouldn’t be anymore infection, but since it snapped through like that it’ll take quite a while to knit, and may not knit properly.  
  
“He has two broken ribs and three cracked ones. I’m most worried about this bruising in his midsection – ”  
  
“That’s where the draybeast stepped on him,” Rorden interrupted. The young healer winced at the thought. The older one continued:  
  
“Yes, there is definitely damage to his internal organs, but since there is no way to see inside and tell which ones, there is not much I can do to treat them. I do have a powder which can ease the pain, if he will take it. Has he been unconscious this whole time?”  
  
“I – we’ve been giving him fellis,” Jarron spoke up timidly. The others turned to look at him. “We didn’t know what else to do. He got a fever…” he pointed to the herbs he had laid on the table.  
  
“The boy’s been doing the most for him, Master Fallon,” Rorden put in. “He’s been getting him to drink that broth, as well as the fellis wine. I’m no healer.”  
Master Fallon turned a sharp eye on Jarron, who held his breath, hoping he had done nothing wrong.  
  
“Well,” he went on, “I’ve bandaged the leg and wrapped the ribs, but we’ll just have to wait to see how the other injuries will fare. I must return to the Healer Hall and consult MasterHealer Oldive. Sordo will stay here while I am gone.” 

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
Jarron watched Sordo as the young healer continued to care for Chandis. He had dissolved the powdered numbweed in a cup of wine, which he slowly poured into Chandis’ mouth; still feverish, the man gulped thirstily. “I’ve given him something for the fever as well,” Sordo explained. “The herbs work better dried and steeped; I’ll show you how to hang yours to dry.” Jarron nodded and managed a smile, although he was awed at how much the young man knew. He had been so scared when Chandis was hurt and he didn’t know what to do. Not even the traders had known to do more than apply fellis and numbweed. He was proud of himself for remembering about the fever herbs, but he hadn’t been sure of the right way to prepare them. He was glad someone who knew what they were doing had come to help.  
  
Chandis groaned, and Jarron looked anxiously at the healer. He couldn’t see anything wrong – at least, nothing worse. Sordo caught his look and smiled reassuringly. “It’s just the fever. He’s not really awake, but the pain is making it hard to sleep. The powder will help. He’ll heal best while he’s sleeping.” True to his word, Chandis soon settled into a deeper sleep. Without realizing it, Jarron drifted off as well.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
He awoke with a start, ashamed of having fallen asleep. Sordo was nodding as well. Jarron realized what had woken him was the sound of the kettle boiling over. He jumped up and swung it away from the fire; it was more of the herb broth. When he turned around, Sordo was watching him as well. “You’re quite handy with that,” he remarked.  
  
“Oh, thank you,” Jarron said. “I can’t cook very good, but the others can’t cook at all, so I usually do it. My sister taught me. She died.” He realized he was babbling and snapped his mouth shut.  
  
“Did she teach you about herbs, too?”  
  
Jarron was surprised that an adult would be interested in him, but he answered obediently. “I know about some of them. Like this one, ferny, for the fever.” He pointed toward the herbs where Sordo had tied them to hang from the ceiling.  
  
“We call that featherfern at the Healer Hall. Do you know any other herbs?”  
  
Jarron was no longer nervous; he was concentrating too hard on remembering what Larina had taught him. “There’s tussilgo, for winter coughs – ”  
  
“Tussilago.”  
  
“Right. It clears your throat out. And there’s hazel bush – you can rub that on bruises.” He paused to think. “Willow bark for headaches… I can’t remember any others. Except we have mint for when we run out of _klah_.”  
  
“Very good!” Sordo said approvingly. “You’ve got several very useful herbs growing out there. Do you know if you have one called yarrow?”  
  
Jarron screwed his face up, trying to remember. “I’m not sure.”  
  
Sordo stood up. “Can you show me your garden? Yarrow is very useful for   
healing severe bruising and sometimes even internal injuries. We gave Chandis some earlier, but if there’s some in bloom that’ll be better than the dried.”  
  
Jarron got up as well, looking anxiously at Chandis, but Sordo put a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be all right for a few minutes. He’s had enough fellis to take out that draybeast that stomped him.” Jarron nodded and led the healer out toward the end of the vegetable patch where he had faithfully tended Larina’s herbs, even the ones whose use he wasn’t sure of. He explained about saving the seeds to plant each year. Sordo seemed surprised that they had only the small garden, but Jarron explained that they always had a lot of business just at harvest time, when people were bringing tithes to the main hold and the Weyr. They couldn’t afford to farm as well and have to abandon the fields at that crucial time. “We get lots of stuff from Fort,” he said. “ _Klah_ and flour, and beer – ” Sordo laughed at that. “And clothes, and things like numbweed and fellis and seeds.”   
  
“So when no one needs the raft, you work on the garden?”   
  
“I do the herbs, and all of the weeding. Gaffer’s from a farmhold, so he always helps me plant, and Chandis – ” He faltered, thinking of the way Chandis had screamed under the wagon. “He milks the cow. He’s the only one she lets milk her. I have to take the cow’s dung out to the garden. We mostly just pick things when they get ripe. But we always have to take a day to dig up the tubers. That’s always the hardest part.” They had reached the row of herbs. Sordo immediately went to a row of taller plants that were just starting to bloom, and picked several with white flower heads.  
  
“This should do for now,” he said. “I’ll show you how to make an infusion of it. We’ll have to wait a while longer to give it to him, because we don’t want to mix too many different medicines. Also, we don’t want to give him too much of this yarrow, because it can be dangerous.” Jarron caught his breath anxiously. “Oh, it’s all right, lad. The same goes for most medicines; they can be useful, but if abused they can also cause harm. Even fellis, which is keeping Chandis asleep and feeling less pain, can kill a person in a strong enough dose.” They had reached the house. “I’ll be using some of that hazel bush for the bruising. I have some in a salve, which is gentler than just using the juice from the crushed bark. Unfortunately it reacts with numbweed, so we’ll have to wash off some of the numbweed. We can alternate the two.”  
  
“Healer!” Rorden had come into the room. “Is he any better?”  
  
“No change yet, Holder, but I can use some of Jarron’s herbs to make another infusion, and I have a salve I'd like to put on the bruises. I’ll need to wash the numbweed off.” Jarron hurried away and returned with clean cloths and water. “Thank you. I’d like to start brewing the infusion before I do the salve; would you go get some fresh water?”  
  
When Jarron had left to get the water, Sordo turned to Rorden. “That’s quite a helpful lad you’ve got.”  
  
Rorden seemed surprised. “Yes, I suppose he is at that. He was my wife’s brother – came out here to live with us when he was a child, after his parents died of fever. Larina – my wife – she died a few Turns ago.” He sighed, and a look of such tender sadness passed across his face that Sordo was taken aback. Trying to break the silence, he went on.  
  
“She taught Jarron about herbs?”  
  
“Oh yes, she loved that garden. Knew more about herbs than any of us – I don’t know what any of those are good for.” He gestured toward the hanging bundles of herbs and sighed again. “She loved that boy like her own son. I know this isn’t the best place for a boy to live, all alone with us men. I’d like to do more for him, but we can barely make ends meet. And now with Chandis hurt… I’ll have to send a message to Fort when that dragonrider comes back with your Master. We can’t get along with just three of us – it takes four to man the raft.”  
  
“I’d like to discuss the boy with you, Holder.” The Healer’s tone made Rorden look up warily.   
  
“Has he done something he shouldn’t?”  
  
“No, nothing like that. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was quite impressed with his bedside manner. Actually, I wanted to ask you if you would give me permission to take him back to the Healer Hall with me.”  
  
Rorden’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Sordo hurried on. “He’s of an age to be a good apprentice, and he seems interested in the herbs and things. It would be a chance for you to do more for him.”  
  
Rorden struggled for words. “I… don’t know. Does he want…?”  
  
“Of course no one would force him if he didn’t like the idea,” Sordo assured him. “But it’s time you considered his future. It’ll be years before he’s strong enough to help with the raft, if he ever is. Maybe it’s time he got to choose where he goes.” He noticed Jarron standing in the doorway with the bucket of water. “You can put that in the kettle to boil,” he told the boy. “How much of that did you hear?”  
  
Jarron was staring at him in surprise and disbelief. “You said… you want me to leave?”  
  
“I want you to come with me, to the Healer Hall. As an apprentice. Would you like to be a healer?”  
  
Jarron glanced at Rorden, who seemed as surprised as he was, but who gave him a little nod to speak.  
  
“Sir, I – I never thought about it before.” He hesitated, then went on. “Could you teach me more about herbs?”  
  
“Herbs, and many other things. You can specialize in herbs and making medicines if you want, or in treating wounds and illnesses, or in helping people while they are recovering. You would have to come to the Healer Hall to study, at least at first; you must know what each bone looks like and how it connects to other bones, before you can mend a broken bone.” Sordo paused. “You would not be able to return here for some time,” he said gently.  
  
Jarron was silent, thinking. Remembering his parents dying of fever, his sister and her unborn child dying in agony. Remembering the feeling of helplessness when he saw Chandis lying under the wagon, the helplessness that he had seen in Rorden, the strongest man he knew. He didn’t want to feel that helplessness ever again. But to leave Riverbend Hold? It had been his home for over three Turns. The only people he knew were here. But he had also heard Rorden say that they would have to bring someone new in. Things were going to change whether he stayed or went. He looked up at the young healer, who was watching him with compassion, allowing him to make his own decision, and at Rorden, who looked helpless once again at the changes that were occurring. “Sir,” he said slowly, “I would like to learn more about healing. I – I want to go with you.” He met Rorden’s eyes, pleading with his own.  
  
“If you want to be a healer, Jarron, I won’t hold you here,” Rorden said heavily. “Larina would want you to become the most that you could… We’ll miss your cooking, lad.”  
  
Jarron laughed in relief, remembering how everyone always complained about his cooking. Sordo smiled, pleased to have found such a willing apprentice. Rorden smiled sadly, remembering his Larina and thinking that she would have been pleased with her brother – and with her husband. The kettle began to boil, and Jarron went to watch Sordo make the yarrow infusion. If he was going to be a healer, he’d better get started right away.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
Early the next morning a dragon arrived with Master Fallon and MasterHealer Oldive. Jarron was surprised that the MasterHealer’s deformed spine did not keep him from being as fit as any of the men at Riverbend Hold. Master Oldive inspected Chandis, approving the set leg and the use of yarrow and hazel for the internal injuries. Unfortunately, he made it clear that there was no way to know what the internal damage might be. The fact that Chandis had survived several days already was promising, however.   
  
Master Fallon greeted Journeyman Sordo’s announcement of a new recruit for the Healer Hall with approval, but not surprise. Master Oldive seemed to approve as well. It was agreed that Jarron would stay at Riverbend for the next few days while a replacement for Chandis was being arranged.  
  
Jarron could hardly believe how fast everything was happening. Ever since the accident he had been worrying and feeling helpless, even when the healers had arrived. Now he was going to  _be_ a healer and keep others from feeling helpless. He would miss Riverbend Hold and the excitement of never knowing who would come through from day to day, but he was excited to be going somewhere new as well.  
  
Sordo stayed at Riverbend Hold during this time, continuing to tend Chandis. With every day the bruises lightened, until the only obvious wounds were the broken bones. When the doses of fellis were lightened enough for Chandis to stay awake, he was much better, complaining only of a sharp pain under his ribs when he sat up too quickly.   
  
When the day came for Jarron to leave, he sought out the members of Riverbend Hold to say goodbye. Big, strong, rough men all, they nevertheless had to clear their throats quite a lot to get their farewells out, Rorden especially. Jarron knew that Rorden was remembering Larina; he was, too. With his small sack of clothes and a few keepsakes, Jarron met Master Fallon and Sordo outside the house, where a brown dragon waited. With the dragonrider were two strangers, the new help. Jarron hoped one of them could cook. Staring at the whirling blue and green eyes, Jarron could not suppress his excitement as he was boosted onto the dragon. They took off, circling the Hold. Jarron waved, and then they went  _between_.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote this, but apparently I used a site called "A Pernese Herbal" as a reference for all the herbs and treatments. The website I saved does not seem to be up anymore: http://www.angelfire.com/dragon2/perneseherbal/ref/aph.htm


End file.
